Distant Lives - Sequel to Separate Entities
by kat-martine
Summary: Kallie Sanders and her best friend, Jacob Portman, have learned a long-hidden secret about a long-hidden world, and now it's time for them to save it. Along with their new, peculiar friends and their equally peculiar bird, Kallie and Jacob must find and save others like them. Will they make it, or will the world of the peculiars be lost forever at the hands of the corrupted wights?
1. Chapter 1

A plane sounded overhead. Waves below us splashed against our three little boats. Oars hit and rose from the water, each rotation taking us farther and farther from the life we had to leave behind. Jacob looked up, and I could only wonder what he was thinking. I needed to give him more credit - he may have decided not to go to college, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He was smarter than me, probably, and his thought process was a lot more profound than mine - if that made sense. I could see him being an author, like his father. Maybe, if we survived the journey, he could write down our story one day.

Time went by slowly - after just half an hour I felt like we should have arrived at our destination. Of course, we wouldn't reach mainland Wales for another few hours, and I was beginning to grow bored. That boredom was temporarily put to rest when Horace tapped my shoulder, letting me know silently that it was my turn to row. As soon as he sat down where I had been, he asked loudly how far we had left to go. I looked at Emma, who had a simple map of Wales and its islands. After a contemplative moment, she replied.

"Seven kilometers?" she shouted back, sounding quite unsure. Millard, who was in my boat and examining the Map of Days, looked up at that, a frown on his face.

"Make that eight and a half," he corrected, and the rest of us let out a collective groan. Once Horace and I switched back, I would request to stay that way - I hated boats, and after just a few moments of rowing, I was already feeling queasy. Now, with eight and a half kilometers between us and our destination, I felt even sicker. If we were back in 2013, a ferry could have made the distance in about an hour. I dreaded few things more than the idea of the harrowing boat ride ahead. One of these things, of course, were the monsters that were set on our deaths - hollowgasts, and to a lesser extent, wights.

Those goddamn creatures - I couldn't bring myself to consider wights humans, despite their likenesses to us - were somewhere below us in a German submarine, a thought that only made me feel worse. I wondered if they already knew we'd fled the island - if they didn't, they would soon find out. Another plane flew overhead, causing me to flinch and nearly drop the oars in my hands. I just hoped we'd reach the mainland before night fell.

By noon I was sure we all regretted not bringing fresh water with us. I was glad Horace was alright with not switching anymore, so only Fiona and Millard switched from time to time - even then, Millard would ask for a little extra time to study the Map. The only two downsides I saw to not rowing were that I was constantly bored, and I felt bad for not doing my share of the work. I knew I would have to make up for it later on.

While I sat, waiting in the center of the boat, my mind had time to wander. What could my parents possibly think about my call? It had been long enough now that they'd be awake - what would they make of it now that their thoughts were no longer covered by a blanket of sleep? How would Kev react to seeing the twin room keys back on the counter without so much as a goodbye note? I was only overthinking, but the burning sun and monotonous rhythm of oars hitting the waves were slowly driving me crazy - not to mention my lack of sleep.

Somewhere in my growing delirious state, I began wishing for Bronwyn's strength - she was rowing a whole boat by herself. She made it look easy; there was hardly a bead of sweat on her forehead and her boat had more cargo than the other two, that cargo being Claire, Olive, and several heavy trunks. In these trucks were several practical things, like clothes and food and books the children couldn't bear to leave behind. However, as one may expect from peculiar children, there were some more peculiar items as well - for instance, Enoch had packed a few jars of disembodied animal hearts, and Hugh was sure to store the house's front doorknob in a pocket in his bag. He'd found it in the grass on our way from the house and refused to leave without it - none of us could object, nor could we object Horace's request to bring along his lucky pillow, which he said helped keep his worst nightmares at bay.

There were some items, however, that were just too precious to even let go of. Myself, for instance, and a portrait I'd painted of Millard. Even for the short time I had been rowing, I had held it between my knees, just as Fiona was doing with a pot of worm infested dirt from the garden she used to tend. Millard - the invisible boy and, admittedly, the object of my affection - had streaked ash across his face as a sort of mourning ritual. I hadn't the heart to tell him he looked sort of ridiculous doing it.

I was surprised when he flipped the Map of Days closed and switched spots with Fiona, allowing her time to rest after nearly an hour and a half of rowing. Not twelve hours ago he'd been shot near his collar bone, though I supposed if he thought he could manage rowing, I wouldn't object. I, too, had been shot, though the bullet merely grazed my arm. It wasn't nearly as bad as Millard's injury. I felt bad that I couldn't help with rowing, but my fear of boats was nearly crippling - I almost didn't get in.

Three harrowing hours passed, and the only telltale sign that we had been going anywhere was the very island we were leaving behind, fading into the distance the more we rowed. It looked tiny now, almost as if I could hold it in my hand. It seemed I wasn't the only one who noticed the island's gradual disappearance, for Enoch rose quickly, causing his boat to wobble a bit.

"Look! It's disappearing!" he shouted, pointing a finger in the direction of the island. Those who were rowing stopped, and we all focused on the home we were leaving behind as tendrils of fog hid it from view.

"It's time to say goodbye," Emma said, a frown on her face as she said what we were all probably thinking. She stood as well and removed her sunhat as a sign of respect. "This may be that last time we see it."

"Farewell, island. You were very good to us," Hugh began, a couple bees flying out of his mouth as if they too were saying goodbye.

Horace began waving goodbye, and I couldn't help but notice a tear streak down Millard's cheek, breaking up some of the ash. It was then that I remembered his book, and how it would forever and always be unfinished. All those years of close documentations had gone to waste along with his home. "Goodbye, house," Horace said, invading my thoughts. "I will miss all your rooms and gardens, but most of all, I will miss my bed." I wanted to laugh at that, but I knew I couldn't.

"Goodbye, loop," Olive spoke next, wiping at her own tears. "Thank you for keeping us safe after all these years."

"Good years," Bronwyn added. I swear I could feel my heart break and drop. "The best years I've known."

I felt that I would be intruding if I voiced my own goodbye, so instead, I kept it internal. I would forever be tied to this island, just as each of the others would be. I may not have had the memories of many years spent there, but I knew that this place had changed me nonetheless. This place, this island, would forever be in my memories and the memories of all the children it was home to over the years. I began to wonder: if I were to die tomorrow, what would I be remembered for? It saddened me to think about, really, but I wanted to be known for something I did, not the person I was. I was more than just the girl who could see ghosts. I don't think people realized that.

As I watched the island fade from view and the others kept rowing, I wondered how long I had left before I too disappeared. Nothing could last forever, not even memories. One day, the house would be long forgotten, along with all the children who once called it home. I, too, would be forgotten. A tear slipped down my cheek, but someone wiped it away. I looked away from the house - or where it had been, at least - to see Millard, who had switched with Fiona once more. His eyes were worried, his smile was sad. I took his hand and squeezed it, silently letting him know that I would be okay. We would all be okay.

I looked back toward the island, and just for a second, I saw the tips of its tallest trees peek out from behind the fog. I knew then that we would never be forgotten. I couldn't let it happen. The island disappeared from view for the very last time, hidden at last by the growing fog. I wondered for a moment if it had ever been there at all.

It wasn't long after we'd lost sight of the island that the fog caught up with us, surrounding us in a shroud of white. Though it was just noon, the sun was a blurred white splotch that was merely brighter than everything else. My stomach turned - we couldn't see where we were going and I could have sworn I heard thunder in the distance. Everyone who was rowing stopped, but without the gentle splash of oars hitting the water, things felt off. I suddenly realized how silent the world had become. There, surrounded by fog with no signs of where we were coming from or where we were going, I felt like we were trapped in a never-ending abyss of suffocating white. The silence was becoming nearly stifling and the air was beginning to grow thick until Bronwyn spoke up.

"I don't like this at all. If we stay still for too long it'll be night and bad weather'll be the least of our problems," she said.

As if the world decided it would be funny to screw us over, the wind picked up and it didn't matter that we couldn't see where we were going anymore because all we needed to see was below us. The waves grew dangerously choppy and capped with white foam, washing over the sides of our boats and tossing us around. There was a louder clap of thunder and rain began to fall, abnormally large drops of water slapping against our skin and chilling us to the bone in seconds. I couldn't help but think back to what one of the men on the ferry Jacob and I took to the island said: this stretch of sea had taken many lives over the years. My stomach dropped again - we were probably next."

"Turn into the waves! They'll flip us if they can hit the sides!" Bronwyn shouted, her voice rising above the loud crashing of waves as she cut through the water with her oars. Fiona and Horace, who were rowing our boat, tried to abide but failed - after hours upon hours of rowing, they were just too tired. I could tell Jacob and Hugh were probably just as worn out. But I wasn't. I turned towards Horace and held out my hands, silently asking for the oars, dismissing how much having to deal with redirecting a boat in stormy waters scared me. He smiled graciously and handed me the oars before clutching his hat and switching spots with me.

Upon sitting back down, I invested all my might in steering the boat around, but Fiona seemed to think I had enough strength to do it on my own, for she dropped her own set of oars and clutched the gunwales for dear life. It seemed that the others had the same idea - me and Bronwyn were the only two still making an effort to not capsize. Without Fiona's assistance, the weight I had to carry was twice as much, but so was my determination. Unfortunately, every ounce of resolution in me disappeared at the sight of a wall of water rushing towards us, gaining height to the point that it could wash over all three boats at once.

It didn't though, but rather our boats began to climb the wave. I dropped the oars as soon as I began to feel the boat lift and clutched to the sides of the boat instead, hoping that it would be enough to keep me alive. I quickly dropped back into the middle of the boat, and Millard pushed past Horace to grab ahold of me, paying no attention to his injury as he did. I thought I was cold, but Millard would probably have hypothermia if the weather carried on like it was. While I was dressed in a sensible pair of capris, a tank top - one that wasn't covered in the blood of myself and Millard - and a hoodie, Millard was in just a pair of pants - for my sake - and the bandage binding his bullet wound.

I was compelled to hug him, as it was the only thing I could think of to keep us both warm-ish, so I did, pressing the Map of Days between our chests so that he didn't have to worry about holding onto three things at once. We each had one arm around each other and the other clutching the side of the boat, and as the boat tipped over the top of the wave, everything we weren't holding onto came flying out: my bag of clothes and snack food that I'd been carrying along with me since Florida, a couple other bags - I couldn't tell whose were whose anymore - and my painting of Millard, streaked with ash and rain which caused the paint to run. It didn't even matter that I lost it - it was ruined. That thought didn't seem to register in my head until after I had let go of Millard and reached for it a little too late, tumbling over the side along with it, hitting the back of my head against the side of another boat as I went. I felt the wind and water strike my skin and tear tendrils of my hair from its ponytail before I hit the water.

The impact was more painful than a bullet, and I would know. Dark water surged around me and pulled at my hair. I could have sworn I saw a fish swim by my sneaker-clad foot. Everything was blurry, then I realized that I could see three large greenish-bluish-brownish blobs just above me - the boats! I willed myself to swim towards them but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The water stopped moving so wildly up above but my vision was blurred by the red intruding my sight. I finally recognized the pain at the back of my head that was different than the stinging of hitting the water at such a breakneck speed. Instead, it was the stinging of salt touching a wound, and I remembered that I'd hit my head. My hand grazed something - whether it was a bag or a shark I couldn't tell. The blobs above me seemed to be growing smaller, but I didn't remember them being so dark. Everything was just too blurry...

A bought of coughs shook my body and mind awake and seconds later I was being jerked up and pressed against something - a body? The ground beneath me was solid but rocking back and forth, so I was able to piece together that we were still in the boats. My eyes finally focused on something not too far away - Jacob's face, scared and worried, and Emma right next to him. Just beyond her, perched on the very tip of the bow, sat Miss Peregrine, her feathers still sopping wet. I refocused on the person who was hugging me - Millard, of course - and hugged him back tightly, or at least I tried, what with my weakened arms. He released me almost immediately and looked me in the eyes, keeping one hand on the arm that hadn't been shot and the other cradling my cheek.

"You scared us all half to death," he said softly, though a small smile was on his face. "Jacob performed-" he stopped and looked up at Jake. "What was it, again?"

"CPR," he replied, then chuckled at the blush rising on my cheeks. "Just chest compressions, though," he elaborated, setting my mind at ease. I finally took a look around, noticing how much our surroundings had changed. Now there were only two boats between the twelve of us, and Bronwyn sat rowing in the second one next to a rope that extended into the clouds. Hugh, Fiona, Horace, and Claire were with her in her boat and kept glancing up, leading me to believe that Olive was up in the clouds and Enoch was somewhere behind me. But what were Bronwyn and Olive doing?

Noticing my confused look, Millard spoke. "We lost the map, so Olive is leading us to shore. We found her dangling at the end of that rope just after Bronwyn pulled you up about forty-five minutes ago. We've been moving for nearly half an hour, now. We were about to give up on resuscitating you, but you pulled through."

I smiled at him but had to stop when a sharp pain began throbbing at the back of my head. I reached up and touched the spot where it hurt before pulling my hand back to see blood. I looked down where my head had been laying on the floor of the boat to see blood seeping through what was left of the water settled on the bottom.

"God," Jacob said, sighing as he did. "You two are the most injury-prone people I know." I couldn't help but laugh at that as I pulled off my maroon hoodie and held it to my wound. At least the bloodstains wouldn't show up on it, unlike the white tank-top I had to throw out just that morning.

After another moment of filling me in on all that had happened while I was out - not much, to say the least - we got Enoch to give up his seat so I could lean against it and rest. Slowly but surely we made our way to the shore, the only indication of time passing being the slowly setting sun. The fog swirled around us, reminding me only slightly of ghosts - if ghosts could fly and melt together to create a big gray mass. In the last couple moments before sleep overtook me, I rested my head - the side that wasn't bleeding - on Millard's shoulder and let myself think. Then thinking became wondering, and wondering became fantasizing, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and fantasizing finally became dreaming.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of stones scraping wood was what woke me up. Millard was no longer beside me - he was already climbing out of the boat. I stretched and stood before doing the same, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw that the sun was still just barely over the horizon. Another hour and we would have been immersed in complete darkness. I'd spent most of my life in a house by the ocean, but I had never been happier to see a beach in my life. The first stretch of our journey was over, and though we still had so far to go, my hopes were rising. We had all survived - so far.

I looked around at the others - I could only imagine how they must have felt. If I was feeling so exhilarated after that boat ride, how must they feel? It had been so long since they'd set foot of the island, after all, and anything new - as Jacob and I had been just weeks ago - was the definition of astounding. And if that wasn't it, it was just the fact that we were alive, all of us.

As we stumbled our way onto the shore, I took notice of Fiona as she scraped up a couple stones and put them in her mouth, as if she was reconnecting with solid ground. It made sense, after all, what with her peculiarity. Or perhaps she was just looking for proof that we had made it, that this was real and she wasn't dreaming. I was wondering just the same thing. With a grunt, Bronwyn sank to the ground, though after everything she'd done for us it was completely understandable. We all bid her thanks - Claire even hugged her - though it didn't feel like enough. She'd rowed us halfway across the stretch of water between Cairnholm and the mainland - there was no way a simple 'thank you' would ever be enough.

As Bronwyn waved us all away, the boys - along with Emma - reeled Olive down from the clouds. "You've gone blue!" Emma cried upon seeing the little girl up close and pulled her to her in a tight hug. Olive was blue, or near it, at least. She was shivering and soaked to the core - I could hear her teeth chattering from a couple yards away. There were no blankets, no dry clothes, and next to nothing left of our belongings after the storm, so Emma began warming Olive with her ever-hot hands and ordered Horace and Fiona to go search for firewood.

In their absence, we all huddled around the boats to take stock of everything we'd lost. In other terms, we deliberately tortured ourselves by revisiting the fact that all we had were the clothes on our backs, a few small tins of food, and a large and very heavy - and apparently unsinkable - suitcase only Bronwyn could lift. With great haste we opened the trunk, hoping to God that there would something that could help us. Our hoping was in vain, however, for all we were met with was a three volume set of books entitled The Tales of the Peculiar and an ornately decorated bath mat with the letters ALP embroidered on it - I recognized them as Miss Peregrine's initials, though I didn't know her middle name.

"Oh, joy!" Enoch said. "Someone brought along the bath mat. We're all saved!" Though none of us appreciated his sarcastic comment, we all had to agree that it was rather unfortunate nothing else had survived. I jumped when I felt a hand grab my forearm, but it was just Millard who was standing next to me and breathing heavily, fear in his eyes.

"The Map of Days! It was one of only five existing copies and I lost it!" he cried, then began pacing back and forth across the beach. "It was priceless! Years and years of notes and annotations - to waste!" I felt bad for him, but I had to breathe a sigh of relief - the way he clutched my arm so quickly and suddenly made me think he was dying or something.

"Well, we've got The Tales of the Peculiar, if that helps," Claire said as she wrung the water from her golden-blonde hair. "I can't sleep without hearing one."

Millard finally stopped pacing and turned to her, a frown on his face. "What good does a book of fairy tales do when we can't even find our way?" He was about to start pacing again when I set a hand on his shoulder, afraid that if he worked himself up too much he might have opened his wound again. He stopped and faced me, and when our eyes met I saw a fiery intensity I'd only seen once before - back on the lighthouse, nearly twenty-four hours prior, when he kissed me because he thought he wouldn't survive. This was different, though - he was terrified. It took seeing that look for me to realize that I was, too.

Back on Cairnholm, we had all talked about getting off the island to find Miss Peregrine some help, but we never thought past getting to the mainland. Now, without the Map of Days, we were completely and utterly lost, and there was no way to know who or where or when to go to, and it scared us all. Or maybe it was just me. I didn't want to feel anything at all. Millard hugged me to his chest and rested his chin atop my head. Alright, I thought, maybe I want to feel this.

I was sitting in a boat - both were now fully on the beach - wringing my hands and studying the foreboding forest that stretched as far as I could see when Fiona and Hugh finally came back. Fiona's hair was wild as ever, maybe wilder, thanks to the wind that had picked up, and Horace clung to his top hat as if his life depended on it. How he'd managed to keep ahold of it in the storm, I didn't know. It looked as broken as my spirit - one side was smashed inward and I wouldn't be surprised if it was still very wet. I got out of the boat, joining the others, but frowned when I saw that they came back with empty arms.

"We couldn't find any wood," Horace explained as soon as he and Fiona reached us. I sighed and ran a hand through my damp, tangled hair.

"Did you check the woods?" Sarcasm dripped from Emma's voice as she pointed to the trees just behind the sand dunes.

"It was too scary, there was an owl."

"And since when, exactly, have you been afraid of birds?"

Horace merely shrugged and began smoothing out his waistcoat for what must have been the seventh time before Fiona elbowed him. "Right! We did find something else."

"Shelter?" Emma asked, her blue eyes suddenly brighter.

"Or a road?" asked Millard.

"A goose we can cook for supper?" asked Olive.

Horace shook his head. "No. Balloons."

My eyes narrowed and I tilted my head; what did he mean? Emma asked as much.

"Big, black balloons, flying through the air with men inside," Horace replied. "We can show you if you like."

"Please," Emma said, a frown evident on her face. Then we were off, following Horace and Fiona back the way they'd come, rounding a bend in the beach and climbing a sand dune. It surprised me that we didn't see any hot air balloons - they were so vibrant, after all, that it would be near-impossible to not see them. But as we all reached the top of another hill, I understood. We hadn't seen any hot air balloons because there weren't any. Instead, two small zeppelins piloted by one man each were flying low over the coastline, zig-zagging as they went. The sounds of waves falling on the beach muffled the whirring of the propellers.

Emma ushered us all into a large patch of tall grass and we ducked out of sight of the two dirigibles. "Those're submarine hunters," Enoch said, glancing back up at them as he answered our unasked question. "It's the best way to spy enemy ships and subs from the sky."

"They why are they so close to the ground?" asked Jacob. "And why aren't they further out to sea?" My eyes widened and a lump grew in my throat. Could they be wights?

"You don't think they're looking for us, do you?" Horace asked, seeming to think along the lines of what I was. I began picking at a piece of grass, hoping that keeping myself busy in the slightest would calm my nerves.

Hugh scoffed. "Oh, don't be daft. They can't be wights, because they're with the Germans on that sub."

"The wights won't care who they're allied with, so long as they can get ahold of as many ymbrynes as possible. Who's to say they haven't infiltrated organizations on both sides of the war?" Millard said, acting as the voice of reason once again. I looked back up at the zeppelins and tossed away the last little bits of grass in my hands before I took hold of another one. I ripped it into little bits and was about to go for another when Millard placed a hand on mine and stopped me. I looked at him with a frown, shook his hand off, and grabbed another one anyway. The only thing that really began setting my mind at ease was when I noticed the two blimps were heading away from us.

Enoch assessed and reassessed the zeppelins - he hadn't taken his eyes off them. "I don't like how they're flying. They're searching the coastline, not the sea."

"But what are they searching for?" Bronwyn asked, impatience evident in her tone. We all knew the answer, though - it was obvious, and it scared the hell out of all of us. They were looking for us. We all huddled closer together, waiting for someone to say what to do next.

"Run when I say so," Emma commanded in a hushed voice. "We'll hide the boats, first, then ourselves." We all nodded, then sat in wait for the zeppelins to disappear.

As soon as the second dirigible had floated far enough away, we all broke free from our cover. As we sprinted down the beach I hoped to all things holy that we were far enough away that we wouldn't get spotted. Oh, what I wouldn't have given for the fog to return and conceal us once more. Without its misty shroud, the pilots in the zeppelins might have seen us hours ago. It may have sent us astray on our journey to the mainland, but at that moment, it was the lesser of two evils.

We all took hold of a boat, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making it feel lighter than it might have. Bronwyn was almost asleep on her feet, so the rest of us did most of the work - not that we minded, seeing as we would rather haul two boats across a beach then get caught by wights. We hurried a little way down the beach toward a sea cave, its dark opening less than inviting. We stumbled more than once when the noses of the boats dug into the ground, but we carried on, determined to make it to the cave in time.

When we were halfway there Miss Peregrine let out a cry. Some of us, myself included, looked over our shoulders, alarmed to see the zeppelins return to our line of sight. We - somehow - picked up the pace and practically slid into the cave as Miss Peregrine hobbled alongside us, making a trail in the sand with her broken wing that was reminiscent of a snake track. We were finally hidden from the view of the blimps.

As soon as we dropped the boats, we all flopped down and leaned against them. ur breaths echoed around the damp walls, making it sound like there were twenty-four of us rather than twelve. Emma whispered a prayer that they hadn't seen us, voicing all our hopes.

"Our tracks!" Millard exclaimed then rose. I had only a couple seconds to look away before he stripped down and ran out, his overcoat in hand - I hadn't even noticed he'd been wearing it. I knew I was the only one who could see him, but I was still worried that he would get caught as he raced out to cover our tracks. It dawned on me that the trails the boats had made would be like arrows directing the pilots to where we were hiding.

Only a moment later Millard returned, his coat tied by the arms around his waist, his body coated in sand, and his wound undressed and re-opened. I stood up with a start - it looked infected, though that may have been all the sand that was slowly drying into the fresh blood. "They're closer now," he said. "I did what I could."

"Okay, but you're bleeding again!" I exclaimed as I made my way over, picking up the rest of his discarded clothes. As speedy as his recovery had been, it was still bad - though, being shot could have that effect. "Where's your bandage?" I handed his clothes back, but he pushed them away.

"I threw it away. It was tied in such a difficult manner that I couldn't remove it efficiently. An invisible must be able to disrobe as quickly as possible, or his power is useless," Millard said, a frown on his face. So, he was finally getting fed up with my peculiarity getting in the way of his, but I understood. He was supposed to be invisible, but it was kind of hard to use it to his advantage when he had to wear clothes all the time just for me. I guess it wouldn't have complicated things too much if we hadn't managed to fall in 'like' - a body was just a body, after all.

Emma stood and walked to my side. "Well, he's even more useless dead, isn't he?" she asked, then pressed two fingers into the palm of her other hand. After a moment of concentration, she took them away. The tips of her fingers were glowing like embers. "Now, this may hurt, but you need to stay still and not bite your tongue." She paused and turned to me. "Kallie, you may want to look away."

But as Emma pressed her fingers against Millard's wound, cutting off his objection, I found myself unable to do as she said. The sight and smell of burning skin were unbearable and Millard's face contorted with pain. Without delay, I turned and ran toward the wall of the cave, throwing up what little I'd eaten since the morning - sea water and two crackers from a rusty tin. Tears stung my eyes, but through them, I saw smoke curling from a new scar of Millard's torso and a still pained expression on Millard's face. I covered my mess with several handfuls of sand before standing once more and wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweater.

Emma sighed heavily as she walked away from Millard. "I told you to look away." I felt embarrassment wash over me just like that huge wave.

"I've got a scar!" Millard whined as I made my way back over to him and sat him down against a boat.

"Does it matter?" I grunted, my throat dry. "I'm the only one who can see it." He stayed quiet but took my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles in a comforting manner.

The engines of the zeppelins sounded nearer than before - they had come quite a bit closer in all the commotion. So close, that the low rumbling echoed off the cavern walls. We all stayed as quiet and still as possible, not even daring to breathe too loudly for fear that we would be caught. I held Millard's hand tighter, silently praying that we would survive. Claire and Olive quickly and quietly ran to Bronwyn and hid in her embrace. The whole cavern was silent, save for the steady whirring of the zeppelins, until the sound finally faded and I could hear Millard's shallow breaths beside me.

"Tell us a story, Wyn," Claire asked, her voice a small mumble. "I'm scared and tired and I don't like this at all and I would much rather listen to a story than sit in silence."

Olive chimed in looking up at Bronwyn. "Please, would you? Could you tell one from the Tales? I just love the Tales."

It was in that moment when I realized that Bronwyn was more like the mother of the children than Miss Peregrine herself. She was the one who tucked them in and kissed them goodnight, and it was she who helped them when they were hurt and read them stories. However, we all knew - save for Claire and Olive, I supposed - that this was not the time for a story, and Bronwyn said as much.

"But of course it is!" Enoch said, his voice filled sarcasm. "Why not the one about Miss Peregrine's wards, who found their way to safety with no help from a map or food to eat and didn't get eaten by hollowgast along the way! Oh, won't you tell us how that one ends, Wynnie?"

"If only Miss P could tell us," Claire said with a sniffle and a sigh, letting go of Bronwyn and making her way over to the bird in question, who happened to be sitting on the keel of an overturned boat. "Oh, what shall we do, headmistress? Please turn back. Please, just wake up!"

All Miss Peregrine did in response was stroke Claire's hair. "We need you, Miss Peregrine! We're all lost and it's dangerous out there and we're all getting hungrier and hungrier! We've got no home and no other friends to turn to!" Olive wailed as she joined Claire, her cheeks streaked with tears, but her voice broke towards the end. "We need you." All the broken bird could do was turn away, her eyes shimmering with tears that - biologically - could never be shed.

"She can't change back just now, darlings. But we can get her all fixed up, good as new. I promise," Bronwyn said, kneeling by the girls and wrapping them once more in a hug.

"But how?" Olive asked, a frown on her face. Her question echoed off the walls, causing it to resonate through my head.

Emma rose, drawing everyone's attention to her. "I can tell you how," she began, sounding unbelievably confident. "We can walk and walk and walk until we come to a town."

"Yeah? And what if there's no town for fifty kilometers?" Enoch challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then we'll walk for fifty-one kilometers. We can't have been blown too far off course."

"Say the wights spot us from the sky?" Hugh asked.

"We'll make sure they won't. We'll be careful and stay hidden."

"What if they're waiting for us in the town?" asked Horace.

"We can pretend to be normal, of course. We can pass."

Millard smirked a little. "Was never much good at that," he said with a short laugh.

I rested a hand on his arm, then an idea came to my mind. "Need I remind you that only one person can see you, and that's me? You can scout ahead!"

"Yes!" Emma said with a smile, glad that someone was finally seeing her side of things. "And you can be our... secret procurer of necessary items."

"You mean our thief?" Millard asked, his smile growing. "Nevertheless, I have made a talented pick-pocket of myself. One might say I'm a veritable master of the five-fingered arts." He looked at me as he said that, the gleam in his eyes making me question if he was talking about more than just thievery.

"Alright, and then what?" Enoch muttered, sour as ever. "We won't be hungry and tired, but we'd still be out in the open, exposed and vulnerable and without a loop. And Miss Peregrine... is... she's still..."

Emma set her jaw, speaking with a confidence I never thought would be possible, given our position. "We will find a loop. If you know what you're looking for, it's easy to find one. And if there aren't any, we can find another peculiar and ask where the closest loop is. And in that loop, there will be an ymbryne that can help us change Miss Peregrine back."

Her steadfast optimism was almost annoying at that point, even though I knew it was what we all needed to keep the will to go on. I understood that we had to be hopeful that we would all make it out alive and well, but she was acting like we weren't going to fail at all, even though all odds said we would. Positive words weren't enough to drive positive feelings into me, that was for sure - I needed concrete evidence that we would all survive. Until I got that evidence I would continue on with a weary heart and worried mind.

"How can you be so sure?" Hugh asked, his bees flying from his mouth to make a floating, buzzing question mark.

"Because I am," Emma replied, and that was that.

"Well, that was all good and inspiring, but for all we know, Miss Peregrine could be the last uncaptured ymbryne," Millard said with a heavy sigh. "Need I remind you all what Miss Avocet said? The wights have been raiding loops and taking ymbrynes for weeks. Even if we do find a loop, how would we know whether or not it still has its ymbryne? We can't just go on with blind faith that there won't be wights waiting for us behind every loop entrance."

Enoch grunted. "Or the hope that we won't be surrounded by hollows."

"It won't be blind faith and we won't have to hope," Emma said, then cast a smile at Jake. "Jacob will tell us."

"Me?" he asked - I could see his body tense.

"Well, can you not sense hollows from a distance?" asked Emma. "In addition to seeing them, I mean."

Jake thought for a moment. "Well, I guess, sort of. When they're close, I get kind of nauseous." I cringed a little, suddenly reminded of the sight of Millard's singeing flesh not ten minutes ago.

"How close must they be?" Millard asked. "If it's only a few meters, we would still be at a disadvantage. You'd have to sense them from farther away. Much farther."

"I haven't really tested it yet. This is still so new, and I haven't really had the chance to try it out." Jacob replied, looking like he thought he was letting everyone down. After all, he'd only come across one hollow, and though he killed it, it nearly killed him first. In fact, he told me it was the same one who's killed his grandfather.

"Nevertheless, all talents can be developed," Millard said. "Take Kallie, for instance. Her eyes have become so adjusted to seeing ghosts that she can see other unseeable things. Namely, yours truly." He paused then, smiling when he noticed I was blushing. "All you need is time and... and exercise. Think of your peculiarity as a muscle, I suppose. The more you use it, the more it will strengthen."

It seemed Enoch had reached the end of his fuse. "Enough of this nonsense! Are you all so desperate that you're putting all your trust in him? He's only a boy! A normal, soft-bellied boy who knows next to nothing of our world. And so is she!" With that, he pointed an accusing finger in my direction.

"Don't be silly, Enoch," Emma said, coming to our defense. "They're as peculiar as the rest of us!"

"Hogwash!" Enoch was shouting now. "Just because they've got a splash of peculiar blood in their veins doesn't mean they're family. Don't think for a second I believe your little lie about seeing invisible things, Kallie. For all we know, that shoddy painting of Millard could have been something you thought up. And as for you," he turned to Jacob, "you probably couldn't tell the difference between a hollow at fifty meters and indigestion!"

I stood, balling my fists at his blatant idiocy, but Bronwyn spoke before I could throw a punch, which was good, as I'd never thrown a punch in my life. "Didn't Jacob kill a hollow, though? Stabbed it through the eyes with sheep shears! When was the last time you heard of a peculiar so young doing something like that?

"Not since Abe," said Hugh. A blanket of silence fell over the children at the mention of his name.

"I heard he killed one with nothing but his bare hands," Bronwyn mused.

"I heard he once killed one with a knitting needle and a length of twine," Horace added. "In fact, I dreamed it, so I know he did."

Enoch scoffed. "Half those stories are tall tales that are only getting taller the more we tell them. The Abraham Portman I knew did nothing to help us."

"He was a brave peculiar!" Bronwyn objected. "He fought and killed scores of hollows for all our sakes!"

"Oh, sure, he did. Then he ran off and left us defenseless in that house while he pranced around America, acting like some sort of hero."

"He was more heroic than you could ever hope to be," Emma said, a hint of a growl in her voice. Of course - the topic of Abe was still a touchy one around her, given their history. "You don't even know what you're talking about, anyway. There was more to it than that." I sat back down next to Millard - I could see this argument no longer involved me. Of course, this all had a much more deeply rooted cause.

"That's beside the point," said Enoch with an annoyingly nonchalant shrug. "We need Abe, and this boy-" he cast a resentful glare at Jacob- "is not him."

As much as I hated to admit it, I could justify what Enoch was saying. After all, he'd only known us for two weeks, and it had only been a few days since Jacob had learned about his ability. I couldn't help but feel guilty. I had been living with my power my whole life, and the others had lived with theirs for what was worth a lifetime, and there he was, inexperienced and incapable of providing us the help we needed.

"You're right," Jacob said, finally cutting the tension that was slowly growing in the silence. "I'm not my grandfather. I'm just some kid from Florida. It was probably dumb luck that I killed that hollow."

"Nonsense, Jacob," Emma said, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. "One day, you'll be just a good a hollow-slayer as Abe was."

"One day soon, hopefully," muttered Hugh.

"It's what you were destined for," Horace said, the look on his face leading me to believe he knew more than what he was letting off.

Hugh turned to Jake and clapped him on the back. "Even if it ain't, though, you're all we've got." I shook my head.

"Well, if that's so, then bird help us all," Enoch said. I stood up again.

"Alright, that's it," I growled. "I'm sick and tired of your piss-poor attitude. You can stop complaining until you do something like Jake did. If there comes a time where we'll need hollow bait, you'll be the first one sent out. And if you die, I won't see your ghost, 'cause your soul will be going straight to Hell." I took a deep breath and realized I was mere inches away from Enoch's face. I stepped back and breathed deeply again. "I need some air." With that, I turned on my heel and left the cave, ignoring Jacob and Millard's objections.

I sat to the left of the cave entrance, watching the waves roll into shore. I hardly paid attention to Jacob as he began walking down the beach, away from me and the cave. I looked back to the waves, watching the sky slowly fade from pale blue to lilac to a deep pink, growing darker and darker by the minute. I could tell that my mind was about to start wandering until I felt a presence next to me. I didn't have to look to know it was Millard, finally wearing his pants.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a moment. I didn't tear my gaze away from the ocean.

"I'm fine," I said, though my icy tone suggested otherwise.

"Your painting was amazing, by the way," he said, thinking back to what Enoch had said to insult my artwork, as well as trying to get me to speak more than two words. It worked, though not how he was expecting.

"Enoch doesn't seem to think so."

There was a brief pause before Millard spoke again. "Well, do you want to know what I think?" I remained silent, still staring at the waves. There was another short silence. "Enoch is a bloody rotten snake."

That finally caught my attention. I whipped my head to face him, my re-done ponytail nearly whipping my nose. "That was like 1940's style swearing!" I exclaimed, eyes wide as he nodded. "You said swearing was for the uneducated!"

"I would rather speak like an uncouth hoodlum than go without you talking to me," he replied, the smile on his face only lifting my spirit more.

"Oh, so I'm an uncouth hoodlum, now, am I?" I asked, smiling as well so he knew I was only joking.

"You know that's not what I meant. Besides, I got you to talk to me, didn't I?"

"I was talking to you."

"Complaints and two-worded phrases do not count as talking." I laughed at that, though I stopped almost immediately when a chilly breeze blew past, causing me to shiver. "Are you cold? Do you want me to fetch my coat?"

I shook my head, rubbing my arms to make my goosebumps disappear. "No, It's alright." I thought for a moment, then smiled a coy little smile. "I know a way we can both warm up."

"Well, Emma's gone to speak with Jacob, so... oh..." Millard finally noticed my face nearing his.

In a matter of seconds, our lips met, warming me to the bone. Somehow I managed to crawl onto his lap, letting a hand trail down from where it was tangled in his hair until it rested on his new scar. He pulled back with a soft hiss and I dropped my hand to my side.

"Sorry, does it still hurt?" I asked, my voice hardly rising above a whisper.

"Only a little," he replied, then took my hand and guided it back to the scar. I raised my eyebrows and looked into his eyes - his gorgeous, amber-brown eyes - worried that I'd cause him pain. But as my fingers brushed against the newly formed scar tissue, all Millard did was close his eyes and take a breath. Before I could even think, his lips were back on mine. Until a loud crash came from the direction of the ocean.

I leaned back quickly at the startling noise and turned my head to see what it was. Another crash sounded, twice as loud as before, nearly drowning out the alarmed voices of the children still inside the cave. Millard and I stood, prepared to run, though his hand never left my wrist. Our fingers entwined as a bright light washed over us, and it finally registered in my mind. Rising from the depths of the ocean was a submarine, searchlights glaring and men shouting from open hatches.

Millard recovered from the shock before I did and dragged me back to the mouth of the cave, hiding us just inside the opening and hugging me to his chest. He dared a look outside, but from where I stood, I saw two figures running toward the cave as well - Jacob and Emma. Once they were finally back with us, shouting for everyone to get up and grab what they could, Millard let go of me. The first thing I did was run to Bronwyn's side - she was the only one who wasn't alert. In fact, she had fallen asleep, and even the noise from the submarine hadn't caused her to wake up. I wasn't the only one who thought to wake her, but after shaking her and shouting in her face, we had to lift her up ourselves. I was utterly relieved when her feet touched the ground fully, waking her up at last.

I was suddenly glad we had so few things left from our incident at sea, but I couldn't stop and be thankful for long. Emma was sure to scoop up Miss Peregrine in her arms, and without a second glance, we ran from the cave. I dared a look back to the submarine, only to see that several men were splashing through the water toward us, holding guns above their heads to keep them dry. We only ran faster.

Nobody cared that we ran directly into the quickly darkening forest, growing more ominous the longer night wore on. The moon was hidden by clouds and trees, leaving us with no guiding light and many small cuts and bruises across our faces and arms where twigs slapped against any bare skin they could. I nearly ran into a tree that seemed to appear out of nowhere. It was so dark, even I couldn't see Millard anymore.

We stopped several moments later, chests heaving and hearts racing. Those whose ears weren't ringing listened for any signs that they were following us. They were, to no one's surprise, but they we no longer alone. Mingling with the sounds of the men's voices was the barking of several dogs. We kept running. This would be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

I stumbled over another branch, catching myself before I fell again. My knee was still bleeding from my first spill. And then came the ice-cold stream, which we waded through waist deep to hide our trail until our feet were numb. When we were through I could barely run. It felt like hours had passed before Horace finally tripped and just lay there, begging for a rest. Enoch demanded him to get, but he was wheezing, already leaning against a tree. He was relieved that we had finally stopped. We all were.

"It's no use trying to go anywhere, anyway. We could end up circling back on ourselves and ending up where we started," Emma decided, taking a deep breath between every few words. I slumped against a tree and checked my knee. Though I couldn't see it very well, I could feel that it had already scabbed over.

"Quite right," said Millard. "We'll be able to make better sense of the forest in the morning. Or noon, given how tired we all seem to be." He then disappeared behind a tree. A moment later he returned with pants on and sat down next to me. I hadn't noticed that he'd taken them with him.

Enoch grunted. "If we even live that long."

Rain began to fall. Fiona began whispering to the trees, willing them to form a leafy dome over us, just large enough that we could all sit underneath. The leaves were almost woven together to keep the rain out. As I sat against one of the trees, my head resting on Millard's good shoulder, I let the rain calm me. I was finally breathing steadily. The barking of dogs sounded father away, but each woof drove another pang of fear into my heart. What if they caught us?

Then Claire began to cry. It started out soft and innocent enough, but it grew louder and louder as she went on until both of her mouths were practically screaming and tears were streaming from her eyes. "Would you just be quiet?" Enoch hissed. "They could find us with all the ruckus you're making!"

"I can't help it! They're going to catch us and shoot us and feed us to their dogs!" she wailed, her explanation broken into chunks due to sobs that shook her whole body. Bronwyn wrapped the golden-haired girl in her arms, trying to shush her.

"Can't you think of something nicer, dear?" she asked. Claire sobbed again.

"I'm truh-trying!"

"Try harder, then!"

With that, Claire squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. I almost thought she would pass out until she burst into another round of sobs, this time louder and longer than before. Finally fed up, Enoch clapped his hands over both her mouths with a harsh shush!

"I'm suh-sorry," she sobbed, hugging her knees. "If I could hear a suh-story... perhaps from - from the tuh-Tales?"

Millard rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this nonsense again. I'm starting to wish we'd lost those damned books along with everything else." I began to trace invisible patterns on his arm, trying to calm him - and myself - down.

A squawk sounded suddenly, drawing all our attention to Miss Peregrine. She hopped onto Bronwyn's trunk and began tapping at one of the latches with her beak like she was trying to get it open. It seemed she agreed with Claire.

"I'm with Miss Peregrine," Enoch grumbled. "Anything to get her to stop crying."

Bronwyn sighed, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Oh, alright. I don't see why we can't listen to just one. So long as you promise to stop crying, alright?" Claire nodded, shutting her mouths and sniffling. She dared not to speak another word for fear that she may let out more sobs, so she stayed quiet as Bronwyn opened her trunk and pulled out the first volume of the Tales.

"Here you are," Emma whispered as she moved to sit next to her friend and made a small flame appear atop one finger. Claire continued to whimper, even when Miss Peregrine hopped over and pulled open the book to a seemingly random chapter. With that, Bronwyn began to read.

"Once upon a peculiar time, in a forest deep and ancient, there lived many, many animals. There were rabbits and deer, foxes and bears, and other animals of a less common kind. There were stilt-legged grimbears and lynxes with two heads and talking emu-raffes. Hunters loved to prey on these peculiar animals more than any others, and would shoot them and mount them on walls to show off to their friends. They loved even more to sell them to zookeepers, who would lock them up in little cages and charge money to view them. Now, you may think being locked in a cage would be far better than being shot and mounted, but a peculiar animal must roam free to be happy, and after a while, the caged animals found themselves wishing to join their mounted friends."

Claire looked appalled. "This story is so sad. Can't you tell another?"

"Well, I like it," Enoch said. "Read more about the shooting and mounting." I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Bronwyn, however, ignored them.

"Now this was an age when giants still roamed the Earth," she continued, "as they did in the long-ago Aldinn times, though they were few and growing fewer. It just so happened that one of these giants lived by the forest. This giant spoke softly and ate only plants. His name was Cuthbert. One day, Cuthbert came into the forest to gather himself some berries, and there saw a man hunting an emu-raffe. As he was such a kind giant, Cuthbert took the emu-raffe by the scruff of its long neck, and, by standing at his fullest height on his tiptoes, which he seldom did because it made his bones crackle, Cuthbert was able to reach up very high and place the emu-raffe atop a mountain, far from harm. Then, for good measure, he squashed the hunter beneath his foot.

"After that, words of Cuthbert's kindness spread far and wide through the forest, and soon more and more peculiar animals came to him, asking to be lifted to the mountaintop, away from danger. So Cuthbert said, "I shall protect you, little ones, so long as you promise to talk to me and keep me company. There are few giants left in the world, and I am quite lonely."

"And all the peculiar animals said, 'Of course, Cuthbert, we will.'

"So every day, Cuthbert could save more peculiar animals from the hunters, lifting them the scruffs of their necks to the top of the mountain. Soon, there was a whole peculiar menagerie up there, and they were all happy because they could live in peace. So was Cuthbert, because if he stood on his tiptoes he could rest his chin atop the mountain and speak with his friends whenever he liked. Then one morning a witch came to see Cuthbert. He was bathing in a lake by the mountain where the peculiar animals lived, and she said to him, 'I am terribly sorry, but now I must turn you to stone.'

"'Why would you do such a thing?' asked Cuthbert. 'I am a friendly giant. I'm quite helpful.'

"And the witch said, 'You may be, but I was hired by the family of the hunter you squashed.'

"'Oh,' said Cuthbert. 'I forgot about him.'

"'Terribly sorry, dear,' the witch said again as she waved a magic birch branch and turned poor Cuthbert to stone.

"Suddenly Cuthbert felt himself go very heavy - so heavy, in fact, that he began to sink into the lake. He sank and sank and sank until the water was up to his neck. His animal friends saw what was happening from atop the mountain, and as terrible as they felt about it, they knew they could do nothing to help.

"'I know you can't save me,' called Cuthbert up to his friends, 'but the least you could do is come and speak with me! I am stuck here, now, and very lonely!'

"'But the hunters will catch us if we come down!' the animals called back.

"Cuthbert knew his friends were right, but he was still lonely and continued to plead with them.

"'Please, oh please, won't you come talk to me?' he cried. So the animals tried singing and shouting to poor Cuthbert from their safe haven atop the mountain, but they were too far away and their voices were so small that Cuthbert couldn't hear them. So Cuthbert kept calling up to them, begging for them to come down and talk, but they never did. He was still crying when his throat turned to stone, just like the rest of him. The end."

And then Bronwyn closed the book.

I felt - oddly, offended. "That's it?" asked Claire, both her mouths - probably - hanging open. Enoch laughed.

"That's all," Bronwyn confirmed as she put the book back.

"That was a horrible story. Can't you tell us another?"

Emma sighed, putting out her flame. "A story's a story, and now we must be off to sleep." Claire pouted, but she had stopped crying. There was no real need for another story.

"We need as mush rest as possible," Millard pointed out, his voice softer than usual due to his tired state. "Tomorrow's unlikely to be much easier than today was."

We gathered patches of moss, which Emma dried, to use as pillows. As we were lacking blankets, we figured it would be best to huddle together to stay warm through the night: Bronwyn cuddled Claire and Olive into her arms; Fiona practically burrowed into Hugh's embrace, whose bees flew in and out of his mouth as he snored; Enoch and Horace lay back to back, refusing to make any more contact; Emma and Jake lay comfortably together, leaving only me and Millard, which I was far from complaining about.

I curled into his side, my head in the crook of his neck, still tracing little patterns on the arm that wasn't wrapped around me. "I quite like that, you know," he whispered into my hair. I smiled as I continued what I was doing. "Really, though. Sometimes I..." he paused and took a deep breath. I looked up at him, but his eyes were staring at the wall of the other side of our meager shelter.

"What?" I asked sitting up a little as I began tracing the same little patterns of his bare chest. He took another breath before responding.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not all here. I know I am, of course, but not being able to see myself... well, sometimes I need something to ground me." He looked at me and I felt my heart leap. "You are that something, Kallie. You ground me -" he took my hand and pushed it flat, right over his heart - "You make me feel normal. Like I can live a normal-" I didn't let him finish. Our lips met and anything he was going to say completely left his train of thought.

I placed one hand gingerly on his cheek as he wrapped his other arm around my waist, and I didn't even care if anyone woke up. Only a few seconds later I leaned away from him, opening my eyes once more. There was a smile on his face that drove a new determination into me - I needed to survive, and I needed him to survive. I needed to make sure he lived the normal life he wanted. After all the time he spent on that island, he deserved it. All the children did.

I was the last to wake up. Implying that I was the only one who slept the whole night. Claire had gotten sick - surprisingly enough, I hadn't, though I very much expected I would - which had resulted in Bronwyn, Olive, Emma, and Jacob to wake up and look after her. A bought of coughs had woken Hugh and Fiona not long ago, and Horace and Enoch awoke soon after. The last before myself was Millard, who was too worried about my injured head - which I had nearly forgotten about after all of last night's excitement - to wake me up before I was ready.

As we crawled out of our little den, I saw that the sun was only just beginning to rise. We were all muddy and still a bit cold, and as we tried to clean out the moss from our hair, I felt my stomach rumble. It was only then that I realized how hungry I was. I could only remember being that hungry once before - when my parents took me to a wilderness camp in the summer of sixth grade, and the councilors sent us off into the woods for a whole weekend to fend for ourselves while they hung out in the pool. That hunger I felt then was almost unmatched by the hunger I felt now, and I realized just how pampered I had been for my entire life. I could eat whenever I wanted back home, and as soon as I didn't have access to food I couldn't even last a day and a half. Some people only wished they could eat the sort of stuff I had access to, and it made me feel bad about taking my own food for granted.

On the positive side of things, the rain had stopped and the sun was slowly beginning to warm us. The wights and their dogs had either given up their search for us or were too far away for us to hear them and them to hear us. However, we had managed to get ourselves lost. I almost wished it was night again, because the forest looked no easier to navigate during the day. No matter where I turned, everything looked the exact same. The forest was wild and unruly and there was no sign of a path for as far as I could see - which, granted, wasn't very far at all.

Had Miss Peregrine's wing not been broken, she might have been able to fly above the trees and guide us, but it was, so she couldn't. Enoch suggested we send Olive up, but we had no rope and there was a chance she could float away with or without one. Claire was sick as ever, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead despite the fact that she was shivering vigorously. She was so skinny I could see each one of her ribs.

"Will she be alright?" Jake asked.

Bronwyn pressed a hand against Claire's cheek. "She's feverish. She'll need medicine."

"Well, first we'll have to find our way through this horrid forest," Millard pointed out.

"Can't we eat first?" Enoch whined. "Then we can discuss our options."

"What options?" asked Emma. "We'll pick a direction and walk until we find something. Any one is as good as another."

And so we sat and ate, trying to avoid the heavy feeling in our chests. What little we had could hardly be considered food - little brown squares of congealed meat fat - but we ate it, nonetheless. We had no utensils or plates, save for our fingers and the palms of our hands.

"I can't believe I packed five salted game hens and three tins of foie gras with cornichons, and all that survives was this," Horace said bitterly, then to prove his distaste, he pinched his nose and dropped a particularly fatty cube of meat down his throat without chewing. "I think we're being punished."

"And why, exactly, would we need to be punished?" asked Emma. "We've all been perfect angels. Well, almost all of us."

"Oh, I don't know! The sins of our past lives, perhaps?"

Millard frowned. "Don't be silly. Peculiars don't have past lives. We live them all at once." Then nothing more was said on the matter.

We finished our meager meal and buried our empty tins before getting up. Just as we were about to leave, Hugh burst through the bushes with a circle of bees surrounding him. He seemed excited about something, and I was itching to know what.

"Where have you been?" Enoch asked with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I was attending to my morning business, as one must," Hugh began, "and I found-"

"And who gave you permission to leave our visual range? We almost left without you!"

"Who said I needed to ask permission? Anyway, I-"

"Well, you can't just wander off! You could have gotten lost."

"We're already lost, in case you haven't noticed. Besides, I wouldn't have, I -" Enoch was about to interject again but Millard slammed a hand over his mouth. It must have looked odd to the others - an invisible hand over a very visible mouth. "Like I was saying, I left a trail off bees, like always. Now, onto what I've been trying to tell you. I saw water, and lots of it, just beyond those trees!"

Emma frowned. "We wanted to get away from the ocean, not back toward it. We must have doubled back during the night."

Regardless, we all followed Hugh back the way he'd come. Bronwyn took Claire in her arms and Miss Peregrine hopped onto her shoulder. I had begun to limp - it seemed with all the adrenaline pumping action of the previous night, I hadn't noticed that I'd twisted my ankle. Fortunately, only moments and near a hundred yards later, we caught a glimpse of gray ripples of water through the trees.

"Bloody brilliant," Horace groaned. "We're right back where we started. They've chased us back into their arms."

"Well, I don't hear soldiers," said Emma, tilting her head. "Actually, I don't hear anything. Not even the ocean."

"That's because it isn't the ocean, dimwit," Enoch said before running off toward the water. When we caught up to him, Enoch was standing, facing us, in wet sand. He gave us a look that plainly read I-told-you-so, which he had - behind him was a large, gray, mist-covered lake, ringed with fir trees.

There was barely a ripple on its mirror-like surface. And there, in the shallows of the lake, was a large rock formation jutting from the murky depths. At first, I couldn't place what was so striking about it, but then Claire spoke. "It's the giant from the Tales! It's Cuthbert!"

"Hush, dear, you've got a fever," Bronwyn murmured to the feverish girl, stroking her golden curls away from her face.

"Don't be stupid, it's just a rock," Enoch scoffed, rolling his eyes, but it wasn't 'just a rock'.

Indeed, if one looked at the large rock the right way - despite the severe weathering it had gone through - it looked like a giant who'd sunk to his neck in the lake. It was plain to see its head and neck and nose, even its Adam's apple. Scraggly trees sprouted atop the rock like wild, tangled hair. The eeriest thing about this phenomenon, however, was the way its head seemed to be thrown back and its mouth open as if it was calling up to its friends on the mountain top as it turned to stone, just like the giant we had read about last night.

"Oh, and look!" cried Olive, recapturing our attention. "That must be Cuthbert's mountain!" We all looked in the direction she was pointing, and lo and behold, there was a large rocky ridge not too far off.

"So giants are real! And so are the Tales!" Claire said happily, too weak to show much more enthusiasm than a smile.

"Oh, let's not jump to ridiculous conclusions, now," said Enoch as he crossed his arms. "What seems more likely: an author stumbled upon this rock - which just happens to look like a giant head - and writes a story about it, or this head-shaped rock really was a giant?"

Olive frowned. "You're no fun at all. I believe, even if you don't."

"The Tales are just that - tales. Nothing more." Enoch grumbled. Oddly enough, Jacob chuckled a little.

"It's funny you should say that," he began. "For the longest time, I thought the same about all of you."

"You're so silly, Jacob. You thought we were made up?" Olive asked with a little laugh.

Jacob rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, yeah. Until I met Kallie and she told me my grandpa was telling the truth, I never really believed. Even after meeting you, I still felt like I was crazy sometimes."

"I'm not going to lie," I added, "over these past couple weeks, I've found myself wondering if this is all a dream." I paused and looked around at everyone then rested my gaze on Millard, who was standing right next to me. "Most of the time, I'm glad it's not."

"Well, whether it's real or not, it's a most remarkable coincidence," said Millard, taking my hand. "To have been reading that story last night, and then happening upon the very spot of its origin the very next morning? What are the odds?"

Emma's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think it was just a coincidence. Miss Peregrine opened to book herself. Perhaps she chose that story on purpose?"

Bronwyn turned to the falcon, who was still resting on her shoulder. "Is that so, Miss P?" All she did was ruffle her feathers.

"It must mean something," Emma mused, looking back at the large rock.

"Of course it does," said Enoch. "It means we've got to climb that bluff and find a way out of this damned forest!"

Emma sighed, clearly exasperated. "I mean the story means something. What was it the giant wanted? What did he ask for over and over and never got?"

"He wanted someone to talk to!" Olive answered, nearly bouncing with excitement.

"Precisely, so if he wants to talk, let's hear what he's got to say." With that, Emma made her way into the lake. We all watched her go, a little bit concerned and a little bit confused.

"Where does she think she's going?" Millard asked Jacob, squeezing my hand a little. All Jake could do was shake his head.

Enoch took a step forward and cupped his hands around his mouth. "We're lost and we've got wights after us! This is no time for a light swim!"

"I'm thinking peculiarly!" Emma shouted as she waded through the shallows up to the giant head. Before any of us could advise otherwise, she began climbing up to its jaw and took a look into its mouth.

"So, what can you see?" called Jacob.

"Can't tell!" came her response. "It looks like it goes down pretty deep. I think I need a closer look."

As Emma heaved herself into the large mouth, Horace began nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another. "You'd better get down! You're making us all anxious."

"Oh, everything makes you anxious," said Hugh, momentarily tearing his gaze away from Emma, who picked up a loose stone and tossed it into the giant's maw.

"I think it could be a..." Emma stopped, startled as her foot slipped on some loose gravel and she nearly went tumbling in, catching herself just before she did.

"Be careful!" Jacob cried. "Wait, I'm coming!" And he, too, went into the lake.

Enoch rolled his eyes. "You think it could be what?"

"There's only one way to be sure!" Emma said vaguely, excitement putting a smile on her face as she climbed deeper into the giant's mouth.

"Oh, Lord, there she goes," Horace murmured.

"Wait!" Jacob shouted as she reached the large rock, but it was too late. Emma had already disappeared down the giant's throat.


	4. Chapter 4

I trudged through the shallows towards the rock, my twisted ankle still hurting. I slipped in the mud, but Millard grabbed my arm and steadied me before I could fall in. The others were in front of us. Bronwyn was already beginning to climb the giant rock, so Fiona was holding Claire instead. Only Enoch was behind us, reluctant that we had even left the shore.

"Hello down there! I can hear you! What did you find?" I heard Bronwyn call into the giant's mouth, trying to get a response from Emma and Jacob - who had leaped in after the pretty blonde. As Bronwyn spoke with them, the rest of us pooled at the base of the rock, not daring to go any further until we knew it was safe.

"I hope they're alright," I whispered. Enoch looked like he was about to make a smart remark but Bronwyn turned to face us all."Emma says it could be a loop. We've got to jump in and not be afraid," she explained, and my stomach turned. The thought of having to swim underwater made me feel sick - the only reason I could do it a few nights ago was because the adrenaline levels in my body were almost surreal. Also, I hadn't nearly died underwater at that point. But it had to be done, so I waited as, one by one, the rest of the children climbed up and dove into the giant's mouth.

Bronwyn went first, then Claire, Miss Peregrine, and Fiona, then Hugh, Horace, Olive, until Enoch pushed my shoulder. "Well? Get a move on," he grunted, clearly impatient. Millard took my hand and squeezed it before I started climbing up the - literal - face of the rock.

Once I reached the top, I gazed into the water pooled in the giant's mouth and caught sight of a small figure swimming below. I took a deep breath and jumped in pencil-dive style before Enoch could threaten to push me in. I waded around in the water for a second before looking down again. I noticed an area of water that seemed lighter than the rest and dove down, keeping my eyes open despite the stinging water.

I somehow managed to swim through a tunnel about ten feet long. The water grew significantly warmer and the sky above me seemed brighter and I could see my friends' legs kicking around. Just when I felt like my lungs were about to burst, I broke the surface of the water. I took a heaving breath - I must have broken my forty-second breath-holding record. I was suddenly startled by a pair of arms wrapping around my waist and spinning me in a circle in the water - of course, it was Millard.

"Do you know what this means?" he asked excitedly, a bright light shining in his brown eyes. "There's secret knowledge of time loops hidden within the Tales!" He let go of me and started splashing around, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"And you said they were useless," Olive said with a smug smile on her face.

Millard only ignored her. "Oh, I'm just itching to begin analyzing and annotating them!" he continued, rubbing his hands together.

"Don't you even think about touching my book, Millard Nullings!" Bronwyn said, her eyes narrowed.

"But what's this loop for?" Horace asked, changing the subject. "Who could live here?"

"The peculiar animals from the book, of course!" Olive chirped, her everlasting positivity broadening my smile. Enoch made no attempt to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes, but he refrained from sending back a bitter retort.

Emma frowned, thinking. "Well, every loop has an ymbryne, including the ones from peculiar stories. So we've got to find her."

"But where?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, the only other place mentioned in the story was that mountain," Emma answered, pointing in the direction of a rocky bluff not too far away. "Who's up for some climbing?"

We trudged through the woods, dripping with every step and slowly drying under the warm sun none of us were used to anymore. We were all hungry and tired, but the discovery of the loop drove a new energy into us I could only hope would last us to the top of the mountain. As we neared the mountain's face, a well-worn path appeared and the ground began sloping upward, reminiscent of the wave that had nearly sent me to my death the day before. The trees grew sparse and the shrubbery grew prickly, and before too long we had to start crawling on all fours just to keep moving forward.

When the path grew less steep once again, Horace reached up to wipe his sweat-soaked forehead.

"Oh, I do hope something wonderful will be waiting for us at the end of this godforsaken trail," he complained, voicing my thought until he spoke again. "Gentlemen do not perspire."

The path suddenly narrowed, and from what I could see, it would around the mountain like a ribbon. The only way was forward - above us to the right was an insurmountable incline and below us, a break-neck drop. I dared not look over the edge for fear of losing my balance - or my lunch. Emma ordered us to hug the wall, which I had no issue with doing.

As we half-walked-half-shimmied up the path, I felt a hand grasp mine - Millard, no doubt. How was it that he always knew what I needed to be reassured? I squeezed his hand, not daring to speak for fear of my own vocal chords betraying me with a yelp. I seemed I would have yelped no matter what, however, as my foot slipped and the sharp sound escaped from my lips. Everyone stopped while Millard - and Horace, who was on my other side - helped me regain my footing.

A few steps. A quick turn. A few more steps. Another turn. Whispers between Emma and Jacob. Another turn. Horace stopped. I dared a look around him only to see that Jacob was sitting down in the middle of the path. Only Emma, Bronwyn, Claire, and Miss Peregrine were in front of him.

"Oh," Hugh said - to no one in particular - with an exasperated sigh. "It seems Jacob's cracking up."

"I can't help it," came Jake's response, his voice cracking a little. "I don't know what's wrong." I realized, in that moment, that I had never asked if Jake had a fear of heights. Millard and I shared a look, but all I could do was shrug. I looked back around Horace, only to see Jacob peering over the edge of the abyss.

"Jake," I finally spoke. "Are you alright?" he ignored me. He ignored all of us - naturally, the others were asking similar questions. Instead, he got even closer to the edge and I felt my stomach flip - what the hell was he doing?

We all waited for him to respond or react or just say something, but he remained silent. I took a step forward - never letting go of Millard's hand - and looked over the edge as well. It took me a few seconds to notice, but far down below, there seemed to be heat waves, causing the trees below to ripple only slightly, like there was some sort of negative space occupying the area the waves were in. The negative space grew slightly bigger each second I looked. I didn't need Jacob's power to know what it was. I backed up against the rocky wall once more.

"Hollow," I gasped, my voice hardly above a whisper. "Hollow!" this time I shouted.

"Run!" someone else cried, but I could hear my own blood pumping, the sound of each pulse not allowing me to discern who shouted. Jacob scrambled backward and Emma helped him stand, finally allowing us to get moving.

I wasn't sure how we managed to keep ourselves from falling, though perhaps it was the fear of imminent death; if the fall didn't kill us, surely the hollowgast would. We continued up the mountain, hoping we would create enough distance between us and the hollow that we could reach our destination - though none of us knew what that was - before it could catch up with us. We couldn't go back, as that would only give the hollow easier access to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I was too terrified to ask Jake where the hollow was, but I supposed we all were. It didn't matter where the hollow was, anyway. No matter what, it would be after us. My heart was pounding in my ears and all I could focus on was Horace's top hat - the only intimation that I hadn't fallen behind. My head wound was throbbing, which was a shame, as I'd nearly forgotten about it.

We rounded another corner, only to be met with a nearly unblemished wall of rock. It couldn't have been less that fifty feet high. There was no way we could climb it even if there were the proper footholds - we were all spent. Those at the front of our little group searched for some way to get up the sheer sheet of rock, but there seemed to be nothing - no door, no tunnel, no secret passage - in sight.

And so we all broke into a cacophony of panic. My breathing pattern remained at its accelerated state, due to my adamant feelings of panic and terror. Miss Peregrine began to screech and Claire chorused with wails from both her mouths. "We're going to die!" Horace cried. Fiona began searching, to no avail, along the face of the rock for a crevice containing soil or a tiny shrub - anything she could grow a vine from. Hugh looked over the edge once more - it took several steps, as the path had widened significantly, thank god.

"We could jump down if we only had a parachute," he suggested.

"I'm like a parachute! Grab ahold of my legs!" Olive offered, winning a frown from Bronwyn.

"Dear, it's dark and dangerous down there," the strong-girl reasoned. "It would be best if you went up the mountain rather than down. Give me your shoes and take Claire and Miss P up as fast as you can, all right?"

Olive looked worried. "I don't think I can. What if I'm not strong enough?"

"Can't you try, little magpie? You're the only one of us who can keep them out of harm's way." As she spoke, Bronwyn set Claire to her feet and led both girls to the face of the rock. As soon as Bronwyn let go of Claire, she crumpled into Olive's grasp. If it hadn't been for Olive's leaden shoes, the feverish girl might have knocked her over. Olive nodded once, a look of determination gracing her face as Bronwyn set Miss Peregrine on her head. With that, she slipped off her shoes and the three of them were off.

They rose slowly, and I grew anxious when I noticed how Jake kept looking over his shoulder - was he checking to see if we were all still here, or was he wary of the monster growing closer? A yelp brought my attention back to Olive. Miss Peregrine had grabbed her hair and was flapping her good wing, increasing their speed. I hoped they would find something up there to help us.

Back on the ground, we all set about looking for weapons to use against the hollow. Of course, all we could find were pebbles, and my idea of creating a sling-shot was quickly shot down - there was no way it would do much to harm the hollowgast.

"I could be a weapon," offered Emma as she clapped her hands together, a ball of fire coming to life as she brought them apart once more.

"As can my bees," added Hugh, allowing a few of them to be released as he spoke. "They can be fierce if provoked."

Enoch let out a loud snort. "And what, pollinate the hollow into submission?" Hugh merely ignored the dead-riser and instead turned to Jake.

"Really, though. You can be our eyes, Jacob. Just tell us where it is and we'll sting it to death."

We all looked to Jacob, waiting for his orders. He seemed to know exactly where the hollow was. "Any minute now," he said, pointing in the direction we'd just come from. "Be ready." I could feel my heartbeat pick up again, racing as it had before. Its thump-thump, thump-thump was an incessant drone in my head. I got into a position I'd seen Olympic sprinters stand in just before a race, though I had no clue where I'd even run to, given the chance.

"What a terrible end to our journey," Horace said. "Eaten by a hollowgast in some ancient Welsh loop."

"Wait," said Enoch, grasping our attention. "I thought hollows couldn't enter loops?"

"Perhaps they've evolved," Millard suggested.

Emma sighed. "It doesn't matter how it happened. It's here now, and it's looking for a meal!" Millard took my hand at her words, and we exchanged a look. It could have been the last time we saw each other. And then a tiny voice called up from above - for a moment, I thought it was an angel.

"Look out below!" I looked up at the top of the cliff behind us, only to see Olive's face disappear behind the ledge. It was quickly replaced, however, by a long rope being tossed down. It began to unravel as it tumbled down, pulling taught into the form of a net just as the bottom grazed the ground. "Hurry! There's a lever up here - grab on and I'll pull it!"

And so we ran to the net, our hopes falling once we realized it was hardly large enough to carry two of us. Pinned to the rope was a photograph of a man in the very same net. Jake turned it over and read aloud, "Only access to menagerie: climb in. Weight limit: one rider. Strictly enforced."

My stomach turned. There was no way this ancient, elevator-esque contraption could carry all nine of us at once. Alas, there was no way we could take turns, so we all piled in, sticking our arms and legs through the fraying holes. We gripped ahold of any rope we could manage, though somewhere in the tangle of limbs, Millard's hand managed to find mine. I began to wonder why he was so incessant on maintaining contact, but then I recalled what he'd told me the night before - sometimes he needed something to make him feel like he was there.

"Okay, bring us up!" Jacob shouted. Nothing happened for several seconds, and I was half expecting the rope to snap. Then there came a loud, metallic squeal and we lurched upwards. Before too long, we were about halfway up. Then I saw the familiar 'heat waves'.

"Jake," I warned, but he'd already seen it. I looked back what seemed to be negative space and wondered, only for a few seconds, if that was how the others saw Millard. Then I wondered for another second why I couldn't see the hollow. After all, I could see other invisible things, so why not the hollowgast?

In my moment of distraction, I'd nearly missed Jake's orders. "It's about to jump, so lift up your legs!" We all did, bumping our knees and feet together. I thought we were safe, but then Emma screamed and began kicking her leg wildly. The net stopped moving - the pulley was too weak to carry the nine of us and the hollow, which had latched onto Emma's leg.

"Get it off me, oh, please, just get it off!" she cried, and Jake began kicking, too. He was the only one who could help in any way, otherwise I would have tried, too. I gagged as the hollow's stench filled my nose, muddling my senses and turning my stomach once more.

Emma demanded that someone grab ahold of her. From what I could see, Jake grabbed her dress and Bronwyn let go of the net with her hands, hanging on my only her feet so she could keep Emma steady by her waist. I felt the net bounce - Emma must have let go. I twisted around to get a better view - and to keep my own legs from the hollow's grasp - and watched as Emma reached down and clapped her hands around what I assumed was the hollow's tentacle.

An ear-splitting howl rang through my skull - the hollow's cry of pain, no doubt. I saw a small pillar of smoke rise from her hands and the smell of burned flesh muddled with the acrid miasma of the hollow. Emma gripped the tentacle harder and let out a loud cry - both tortured and proud. Even when the hollow was crying out and shaking the next back and forth, probably trying to get Emma to release her grip, she ignored it. And then we began shouting at her to let go, and finally she remembered what seemed to be going on. I heard a thump as the hollow hit the ground and a wave of relief crashed over me.

We shot upwards once more as soon at the hollowgast dropped, sending my heart into my throat and my stomach into one of my lungs. We were going so fast, in fact, that we soared right over the edge of the cliff and landed in a jumbled heap at the top. Olive, Claire, and Miss Peregrine were waiting for us. The levitating girl was cheering happily and Miss Peregrine let out a proud cry as she flapped her good wing. Even Claire raised her head off the ground for a second and offered up a tired smile.

I crawled out of the net and away from the steep drop before flopping over onto my back, finally allowed to catch my breath. Millard stumbled over to me and helped me up, hugging me tightly and planting a lazy kiss on my jaw. "We made it," was all I could manage to say, but it was enough.

We stepped away from each other and looked around at everyone else. "That's twice you've saved us, magpie," Bronwyn was saying to Olive. "And Miss Emma, that was the bravest thing I've ever seen you do, and I've seen you do a lot of brave things."

"Well, one of us had to go, and I wasn't about to let that be me," she said with a shrug.

"I just can't believe you touched the wretched thing," said Horace, wrinkling his nose with distaste.

Emma set to wiping her hands on her dress and then sniffed them, pulling them away from her face almost immediately. "I just hope this smell will go away sometime soon. That beast was, by far, the worst thing I've ever smelled."

"How's your ankle feeling?" Jacob asked her. Before responding, Emma rolled down her sock to reveal a large red welt that looked like a bad burn - probably similar to the hollow's new wound, I supposed.

"Oh, not bad," she replied before standing as well. She let out a hiss of pain as soon as she tried putting weight on her injured foot. "I'll be fine."

"Some help you were, nearly getting her eaten. 'Run away!' says the hollow slayer's grandson. Just brilliant," came Enoch's sarcastic comment. I was nearly anticipating it at that point. No matter what Jacob did, it was never good enough for the dead-riser.

Jacob turned to face Enoch, a frown on his face. "Well maybe if my grandfather had run from the hollow that killed him, he'd still be alive." It looked like he was about to say something else when a quiet thud sounded. Jacob dared another peek over the ledge, his expression troubled. "Bad news, guys. It's still alive."

I joined him at the ledge, and so did Emma and Millard. "What's it doing?" asked Emma. We waited for Jake's response.

"It's making holes in the wall so it can climb up here," he explained. "God, it's like the Terminator."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that, earning strange glances from Millard and Emma. "Pardon me?" the blonde asked, but I only shook my head. There was no use trying to explain it to them. Besides, the Terminator was fiction, and the hollowgast was far too real.

"We've ought to stop it!" Olive cried.

"Or, you know, run," said Horace.

Enoch groaned. "Can we stop with the running and just kill the damned thing instead?"

"Sure, but how?" asked Emma.

"Has anyone got a vat of boiling oil?" he suggested, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"How about this?" Bronwyn broke into the conversation, drawing our attention over to her. She was holding a large boulder over her head.

Jake thought for a couple seconds. "Maybe," he said. "How's your aim? I need you to drop it where I tell you to."

"I can try," she responded, then began making her way to the edge of the cliff. Millard and I backed away, allowing more room for Bronwyn to maneuver the boulder.

"This way," Jacob said, pointing to their left as they peered over the side. He looked like he was about to tell her to drop it before he let out a frustrated sigh - the hollow must have moved. I looked around, hoping to find something else that could work if the boulder didn't work, but there were no more. They only had one chance.

"Come on, come on, come on," I began whispering as if it would make everything go well. Thud after thud sounded as the hollowgast made its way up the cliff, unseen by all but Jacob. Millard took my hand and I began tracing little patterns on his shoulder to calm myself down.

Bronwyn was growing tired and impatient. "Hurry up, Jacob, please. I can't keep this up for very much longer," she pleaded. Jake sent her a ghost of a nod.

"There!" he shouted, pointing just right of where Bronwyn was standing. She repositioned the boulder before dropping it, letting out a relieved groan as she did. There was a terrible crash as the hollow and the boulder hit the ground. "Direct hit!" cried Jacob. The hollow was dead.

"It's dead! The hollow's dead! Oh, joy!" Olive cried as we all gathered around Jacob, still almost dangerously close to the edge. Bronwyn gave him a hug. Emma kissed the top of his head. Horace and Hugh took turns shaking his hand as Millard patted him on the back. I, too, hugged him, glad my best friend hadn't died.

"Good job," Enoch said as Fiona rested a gentle hand on Jake's shoulder. "But you're still not all that."

As we began walking away from the cliff, I noticed the path that had ended so abruptly below carried on at the top of the wall. "The sign attached to the net said Access to Menagerie. Do you think that might be what's at the end of this path?" Horace asked.

"You're the one who sees visions of the future. Shouldn't you know?" said Enoch, his usual bitterness in his voice. Horace only sniffed distastefully in response.

"Pardon my asking, but what's a menagerie?" asked Olive.

"It's a collection of various animals, like a sort of zoo," Emma explained.

A smile lit up Olive's face and she clapped gleefully. "They're Cuthbert's friends, then! I just can't wait to meet them. You don't suppose the ymbryne lives with them?"

"I think it's best not to suppose anything at this point," Millard said. And that was that.

We continued on in silence, each of us thinking of everything that had happened. It seemed Jacob's peculiarity was growing, just as mine had. I thought back to how odd it was that, while I could see ghosts and invisible people, I couldn't see the hollows. I recalled what Miss Peregrine had said to Jake and me only last week. 'Hollowgast', by definition, meant 'hollow soul', or 'no soul'. While humans had souls and so did ghosts, the hollows did not. Perhaps that was the explanation: I could see anything, so long as it had a soul.

"Oh! A house in the clouds!" shouted Bronwyn, ripping my attention away from my thoughts. We were nearly halfway up the hill, it seemed, and it was growing chillier with each step. There, just up ahead, was a house that seemed to be balanced perfectly upon a group of thick clouds. We quickened our pace, a new curiosity driving energy into our bodies.

As we crested the ridge the clouds parted, revealing the house and what it was really perched upon - a tower of stacked railroad ties. The house and its tower were in the exact center of a grassy plain. It was the most peculiar thing I'd seen all day, surpassing only the heat wave-esque invisibility of the hollowgast and the giant rock head in the lake. I was so focused on the tower, in fact, that I hardly noticed the several, smaller but similar houses dotting the plateau.

"What is that thing?" whispered Jake.

"A lookout tower?" Emma suggested, though it didn't seem too likely.

"A place for airplane launches?" guess Hugh. That seemed even less likely than Emma's idea, as there were no airplanes in sight and no sign of a landing strip.

Millard clenched his jaw. "Perhaps it could be a place for zeppelin launches," he said, and I remembered the blimps that had hunted us on the beach. If this was the place where they had come from, we had stumbled right into the arms of the wights.

"Or," Olive began with a small sigh, "it could be the ymbryne's house. Why must you lot always be so negative?" I smiled at the little brunette, happy that she was letting herself remain undaunted by all the terrible things we'd faced.

"Olive's probably right. There's nothing to fear here," said Hugh. As if something refused to let us believe that, a loud growl came from the shadows beneath the tower.

"What was that?" I asked, turning to Jake for clarification.

He shook his head and shrugged. "Not a hollow, that's for sure."

"Well, I have no desire to know," said Horace as he took a few steps back. It didn't matter whether or not we wanted to see what it was, however, because it wanted to see us.

Once again, the thing growled, and after a few more seconds, a furry face peeked out from between two of the railroad ties near the bottom. It snarled at us, as if it was some sort of hostile rottweiler, showing off its sharp teeth, dripping with saliva.

"What in bird's name is that?" asked Emma, her voice hushed in case the thing could understand what she said.

"My, what a wonderful idea it was to come into this loop. It's going quite swimmingly, wouldn't you say?" Enoch commented, sarcastic as ever.

The thing crawled out of its hiding place and into the sunlight. It moved as if it was an ape, though it appeared more human than anything. It peered at us from under its wild nest of hair, dressed in all rags and reminding me of a crudely portrayed neanderthal. Its teeth and eyes were a similar dull yellow to my favorite floral dress back home.

"Make it stop looking at me! Kill it!" Horace cried. Bronwyn set Claire back on the ground and got into a fighting position. Emma raised her hands to use her fire as a weapon, but could only form a spark and a small cloud of smoke. The man-ape - or ape-man? - tensed at the bright flash and let out a low growl before it scampered around us and dove behind a pile of rocks. He popped back up only a few seconds later, a fang-filled grin on its face that made me uncomfortable.

I was sure it was going to charge at us when a voice behind it shouted, "Sit down and behave!" To everyone's relief, the thing obeyed and relaxed, settling onto its hindquarters as its tongue dangled from its mouth, reminding me of a tired out dog.

As if some omniscient being had read my mind, a dog came into view, calmly making its way towards our group. I searched for who might have spoken, though it was in vain, as there was no sign of anyone else. Just as I was about to ask who spoke, the dog opened its mouth and spoke. "Don't mind Grunt. He's a boorish one. He's only thanking you, by the way. That hollowgast was beyond vexing."

I could only blink, so surprised that I couldn't begin to think of what to say to a talking dog. His voice, sophisticated and innately British, sounded like it should have been coming from a human mouth - though I supposed that was how talking animals were meant to sound. From his mouth dangled a pipe and, adding to his oddness, a pair of green-tinted glasses were placed over his eyes.

"He means not to offend, of course," the dog continued, misreading our silence. "Grunt means well, but he was raised in a barn - quite literally, might I add. On the contrary, I was raised and educated on a grand estate, the seventh pup of the seventh pup in an eminent line of hunting dogs." And then, as if none of what was going on was strange enough, the dog bowed to the best of his abilities, his nose gently grazing the ground. "Addison MacHenry, at your service."

"That's a flashy name for a dog," said Enoch, and I rolled my eyes. This was a talking dog - did he really expect a name like 'Spot' or 'Fluffy'?

Addison looked at Enoch over his glasses with distaste. "And what, pardon my asking, is the appellation to which you've been entitled?"

"Enoch O'Connor," came Enoch's smug response as he stuck his chest out with pride.

"That's a flashy name for a grimy, pudge-faced boy," Addison replied, mocking Enoch's former tone. Then he rose onto his hind legs, reaching almost the same height as Enoch himself. "Indeed, I am a dog, but a peculiar one. Why should I have anything but a peculiar name? My former master had called me 'Boxie' - a dreadful name, and quite insulting to my dignity, at that! - so I bit his face and took his name as my own. 'Addison' is a much better display of my cognitive prowess, in my opinion. Naturally, just after that happened, Miss Wren discovered me and in turn brought me here."

At the mention of the Miss Wren's name, the spark of hope in our hearts grew into a small flame. Perhaps there was still a chance we could get Miss Peregrine back to normal!

"Miss Wren brought you here?" asked Olive, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What about Cuthbert?"

Addison tilted his head, finally showing some semblance to a normal dog. "I'm sorry, who?" he shook his head, then remembered what Olive was talking about. "Oh, of course, the story. My apologies, small one, but that's all it was - a story, created ages ago upon the discovery of that oddly shaped rock and Miss Wren's menagerie of peculiar animals." Olive's face fell, but Millard's brightened.

"I told you so," Enoch muttered to the little brunette.

"Where is Miss Wren? We need to speak with her urgently," said Emma. Addison gazed up at the house at the top of the tower.

"That there is her residence, but I'm afraid that she's not in at the moment. Several days ago she flew off to London to help some of her fellow ymbrynes. There's a war, see, though I assume you've heard of it. It would explain why you lot are traveling about like a fraternity of beggars."

Emma nodded. "Our loop was raided and we lost all of our belongings at sea."

"And nearly ourselves," added Millard, resting a hand on the small of my back. "How is your head, by the way?" he asked me.

"I'm fine, I promise," I replied, meeting his gaze and granting him a small smile.

"Well, fancy that; an invisible! A lovely surprise, and a rare one, too. And two Americans, as well," he added, looking at first me then Jacob. "You lot certainly are peculiar, even for peculiars." At last he returned to all fours and turned toward the tower. "Come along, now. I must introduce you to the others. You must be starving after such a journey, poor things. Nutrifying provender shall be forthcoming!"

Bronwyn took Claire back into her arms, finally at ease with Grunt the man-ape. "We'll need some medicine, too. This little one is terribly ill."

"We'll do everything in our power, I can promise you that," Addison said warmly, and if dogs could smile, I was sure he would have been. "We owe you that tenfold after what you did, solving our hollowgast problem and all. Beyond vexing, as I was saying."

"Nutrifying what?" Olive asked, looking up at Emma.

"Sustenance, rations, refreshments - you'll eat like royalty, I guarantee," Addison replied.

"But I don't quite like dog food," said Olive, trying her damnedest to be polite but to-the-point.

Addison let out a surprisingly human-sounding laugh. "Nor do I."


End file.
